Love By Moonlight
by Echo Vanity
Summary: "it... pulls you under and you're lost, you're drowning in her scent her eyes her voice her everything. She's somehow become your everything...You want to protect her. You want to destroy her..." Harry/Narcissa pairing. References to non-con, slash, age gap, somewhat incestuous undertones, language...characters are messed up. Quite dark. Enjoy! ;


**A/N: **So, this had been previously uploaded, as "Murder The Moonlight" but got taken down because apparently it's content is too mature...and I swore in the summary...oops. Anyway, re-uploading cause I like 's been altered slightly to comply with ahem "regulations" Narcissa/Harry pairing, with overtones or undertones w/e of Drarry. Warnings for non-con, slash, kinda pain kinks, incestuous undertones, and angst like crazy. Enjoy!

**J.K ROWLING THE MARVELLOUS OWNS ALL. **

**Murder The Moonlight**

You suppose you can rationalize it, call her a mother figure. Poor little orphaned you.

She's the mother you never had (and isn't that a sick sick thought)

But she is also a mother you never ever wanted.

She is Draco with her tantalizing well bred smirk, her smooth as silk cream coloured skin, her aristocratic hands and high cheek bones, that aquiline nose.

But her hair with its soft golden waves and her lithe legs and soft curves the honey taste of her full lips and the summer sky ocean deep eyes are traits all her own.

And there is no Lily Evans Potter warmth anywhere to be found.

She can be cruel and you know this. In the way she smiles and teases, torments.

The way her cherry red, blood red nails scrape down your back and leave trails of fire.

The way she laughs and calls you "Little baby Potter" in a voice far too like her crazy sister's. And it should terrify you, anger you, make you push her away hard and leave her bed- but instead it makes you groan and bury your face in those sweet smelling waves. It turns you on and pulls you under and you're lost, you're drowning in her scent her eyes her voice her everything. She's somehow become your

Everything.

And it is so fucking Oedipal, must be gotta be-

Or maybe Freudian and it's always confused you all those terms all that shit and it's all fucking psycho something anyway

Cause if girls who's daddys reject them spend their whole lives searching for replacements who is to say that boys who's mummys die for them don't spend their lives searching searching for something to fill that void. Either a replacement

Or an antithesis who isn't gentle and selfless and breaks their son's heart with their death but brutal and cold and selfish and hateful and mocking and-

Except afterward in the cold, cold light of the moon we will lie side by side in that cavernous bed and she will brush a hand- softer and warmer and far more gentle than Draco's demanding digits- across your hair and murmur: "Sweet dreams love." before turning away and her elegant back and an ocean of icy sheets separates us once more.

You think it must be the most fucked up relationship you have ever had and pretend it's the truth though your mind won't stop listing all of them mocking you with your history and your failings.

Cho- a Cedric substitute; a tool to create envy and subdue envy; a pretty girl mourning her boyfriend; a slutty girl seeking solace where she could find it-who you sought solace in because she of all people understood what it was like losing Hogwarts' true Champion.

Ginny- who always loved you; who you spent so much time with; who was safe and there and a Gryffindor and who was so pretty and looked like your mum used to look and was completely unable to break your heart. Your best mate's sister who possessed the Weasley Twin's laugh and sense of humour but had creamy skin and a lithe athletic body and soft breasts and sweet smelling hair and rose petal lips.

All those post-war one night stands who you have to lump together because if you ever knew their names you have forgotten them now- male, female and only mostly human and not one of them more than a means to an end; who meant nothing and who didn't want love they just wanted to posses your name for the few brief hours before dawn.

Draco- and he is the kicker. Draco with his soft hair and icy metal grey eyes who is brutal when he fucks you but who will trace the words "I Love You" on your skin with your co-mingled sweat. Who fucks you harsh and raw til you ache and burn and bleed but who will always hold you after. Draco the Slytherin Prince and Draco the Death Eater and Draco the boy who always does what he has to in order to survive no matter how demeaning; who bears the horrors of the past in his mind and on his skin and who can't let you dominate because of it. Draco who spent years yearning for this for you just like you know you did though you would never ever have admitted it.

You yearned, didn't you? For Draco?

Did you? You were certainly

Obsessed

But sometimes still there is a far too fine a line between love and hate. Wanting to consume and wanting to destroy.

And Narcissa Malfoy. Your fiancés mother. And more than that the history-

You don't even know how it started. From saving the life of her son and her saving you to dating Draco and going with Draco to meet his mother and announce your engagement. You recall the trepidation of being introduced to the Malfoy Matriarch and you didn't even realize but it was the first time you'd seen her properly. Not with your eyes half closed and blurred by death or with your heart beating too fast in fear or with every fibre of your being filled with hate for her name and that icy stare that blonde hair those hands so much like Draco's-

And you remember being astounded by the electricity you felt coursing through your veins because the very air that surrounded her tasted like what you had spent your whole life searching for.

She was what you had seen in the Mirror Of Erised all those years ago brought to life. She looked like felt like family like home like

Love no not love you don't love the glacier woman you love

Draco.

And though you love Draco Draco Draco yes though you worship the ground Draco strides over in his custom made Italian dragon-hide boots though you knew Draco needed (needs) you, knew Draco was (is) fragile and Draco was (is is is) suffering

Draco never looked it.

Draco's mother was demure and wraith like and soft and you knew even then you wanted to needed to posses her. And that startled you. It awoke in you a fire to dominate.

And Draco with his trauma and Draco with his memories and Draco who still can't sleep sometimes for the thought of a snake like figure and cold scaly fingers and red-eyes glowing with feral lust-

Draco- darling fucked up tortured Draco- just cannot let you.

And you thought you could quench the fire but it burned brighter every time you saw her face.

And since you and Draco moved into the Manor that was too too often.

And it wasn't long before icy blue and verdant emerald began meeting over the breakfast table and where once we would look away, embarrassed at the intensity the pulsing electricity the fact the history the reality- eventually we no longer could and eyes met and gazes stuck like flies to honey and it got harder and harder to break away. And somehow we were alone one night with Draco off doing what Draco did to repair the Malfoy name, forge a life- and it was as if the flood gates had opened and any thoughts of self-control were lost. And Narcissa did vile wicked things with her dinner and desert and those full soft lips and that pink tongue and you tried not to moan every time she took a bite and when she walked away her silk covered hips swung like a pendulum and you followed every movement she made and were fairly sure you drooled.

And Narcissa "retired to bed" early that night with a hungry look in those ocean eyes and you imbibed far too much Firewhiskey and Draco wouldn't be home til midday tomorrow and you found yourself begging at her bedroom door and she took great delight in mocking you for it before letting you in.

It's a sick sad day when begging and tormenting is foreplay.

Narcissa is cruel and Narcissa is cold but she let you pound her into the goose-feather mattress hard enough to make her teeth rattle and your bones ache. And Narcissa is mean and Narcissa is a down-right bitch and she demands and gets what she wants and she mocks you while you fuck and she leaves claw marks on your back that you sometimes can't hide with a glamour but she could be gentle and every inch of her was so, so soft. Her high full breasts are clouds and her hair is sunbeams and those lips are marshmallow and they make you melt every single time.

You want to protect her.

You want to destroy her.

And nearly every night now you sneak away from Draco's fierce embrace and shadowed haunted sleeping face and crawl into her bed. And you try not to admit that every night it gets harder to return to Draco just before dawn.

And you think he knows because he looks at you with hate in his eyes and Narcissa smirks because though she loves her son with all her heart

There is a part of her that hates him for possessing Lucius's eyes and Lucius's hair and for being pardoned when Lucius was not. For breathing and being able to condemn her with his father's eyes when Lucius rots six feet under.

And you draw away from Draco and try not to hate yourself when you see the bewildered look in Draco's eyes dim once more to hate. And you two fight all the time but you won't break up. Because you needs access to the Manor, to Narcissa. And Draco needs you to pound into the mattress and to blame for a war that destroyed him.

Oh it's a sick sad strange game we play the Potter and the Malfoy's.

All of us burdened by our ghosts and hating each other for the truth's we can't and won't admit.

And the silence deepens in the house and you burn for her and you ache when you can't touch her.

And you creep into her room when she's not there just to catch a scent of her, of the two of you on her icy sheets.

You stalk her with your eyes and she sometimes acts trapped.

But mostly she just looks amused and at night she calls you an "Obsessive little freak" and you fuck her even harder in punishment. Sometimes you want to fuck her hard enough she'll bleed, she'll break. But she is the ice queen. She refuses to melt for you.

And one night you come across her and she is crying all lit up by the moonlight and it makes her look like a ghost. And her entrancing eyes are awash with tears like diamonds and in the darkness in the moonlight they look like violets all soft and sweet and bruised by summer storms.

And she runs to you and flings herself across your chest and holds you tight and murmurs "Lucius Lucius Lucius. The war killed so much and I loved him. Love him and you can never replace him but sometimes I think I may love you little boy little hero who stopped the Dark Lord from triumphing. You took everything, saved everything-"

And she is laughing now with an insane look in her eyes and she looks like Bellatrix now, a carbon copy but bleached and you hate her for it. Hate her because this confession makes your heart melt and you feel guilt because you can't say it back though it might be true. It is true-

You love her

And you hate her for it.

And she looks ethereal. She looks haunting and haunted. She looks like she is made of the moonlight and you hate her, hate that you love her. This woman who is not your mother; who lived for Draco when your mother had to die for you. You hate her for saving your life and bearing her son who's eyes kill you inside. You hate her for loving you ,you hate her for her softness, her multiple layers, her complexity, her beauty and her heart and you hate her for making you love her.

She is crying through her laughter and there is fear in her eyes and she is gasping and she's murmuring "Baby Harry little baby Harry" over and over and you want her to stop because that cold, aristocratic voice is not your mother's and you can't fuck herwhen she's acting like this and you hate her hate her want her to

STOP!

You backhand that pretty fine boned face of hers and feel one high cheek bone snap beneath the force.

And she falls to the floor and you pounce on her, straddle her and hiss "shut up" right into that beautiful face.

You examine every pore of her face- a thing you are never coherent enough to usually do.

Usually you are at her teasing mercy as she turns you brings you to the brink. Though it's you fucking her body

She is the one in control.

She fucking rapes your mind manipulates your emotions.

And you didn't even realize.

And still you love her.

Narcissa Malfoy at twenty something years your elder must be fifty by now.

But her breast are still firm and her waist is still trim and there is not a trace of flab or cellulite on her slim smooth pale body and though there are crows-feet appearing at the edges of those haunting eyes they add to her mystery her beauty her perfection.

There is fear in her eyes, so much fear.

She reaches up to brush away a lock of your hair and her hands tremble.

"Harry, love what are you doing?"

There is blood on her mouth and her eye is blackening and you wonder how she can talk through a partly shattered jaw and cheek.

The blood is startling against her creamy skin and it enraptures you.

You think it's good you were born a hero because the sight of the blood might fuck you up otherwise, turn you dark because it is so beautiful, so haunting you think you could spend your whole life staring at her and recreating this perfect picture.

"Harry?"

There is a plea in her voice and you dimly realize your far heavier weight must be crushing her fragile frame.

It should make you stop, get up. Apologise back away go back to Draco who can't be hurt by you.

Instead you lean forward til yours and Narcissa's eyelashes brush.

And then you slam your mouth on hers and she cries out in pain.

She tries to push you off but you won't stop.

Not when she made you love her.

Not when she still loves Lucius.

Not when she is incapable of replacing all that you've lost.

Not when she will never ever truly be yours.

And you force yourself onto, into her and this crosses boundaries you thought you of all people never would cross.

You don't know where this rage has come from

You won't admit to knowing what it is about.

But you take infinite pleasure at having this woman Narcissa

_Malfoy_

Writhing in terror beneath you utterly at your control and you can see as each second passes she hates you more

And loves you for it.

And when dawn breaks you get off her and walk away.

And she appears at breakfast wearing such a strong glamour you can taste it in the air.

And Draco corners you and tell you he heard screaming last night.

You smile and it is feral and cruel and say

"She liked it."

And he stares for the longest time before walking away. And you think maybe you see tears in his eyes and maybe he's trembling.

But maybe not.

And Narcissa brushes past you and the smell of her makes your heart beat far too fast and you melt.

And she looks at you with those ocean eyes and there is a mocking gleam and a fear filled wonder in them and she whispers

"Lucius used to tie me down to the bed.

Harry you're not half the man he was taking me on the floor. Baby Harry needs to be taught a lesson." And her hips swing and upstairs Draco is throwing things at walls.

And you know this is how it will be.

And Draco will turn up for your wedding in three days time and smile like the charmer he is and afterward will fuck you harsh and painful and raw and humiliating and then you will stalk through the moonlight and do the same to Narcissa. Who will smile and coo and laugh and egg you on in your depravity.

And oh what a sick sweet strange sad sick little game it is you all play. What a wonderful way to spend forever.

A/N: This is so different for me, so reviews just to let me know what you think would be greatly appreciated! ^_^


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